The Mirror

So, I started this blog, and then I disappeared. I'm sorry. I promised I wouldn't, but I did. Honestly, I started living (and loving) my life here in Florida. To sum up (briefly) my life in the past two years...

I've made the best friends (literally), who are essentially my family; we finally moved into our home (just passed the 2 year mark...and there's still SO much to do!); I've become more involved in my school; my kids are now in school; my parents moved here full time; my husband has been traveling less...my life is just busy. My free time (what little of it there is) is spent catching up on housework, spending time with the people I love, catching up on reading, TV, or knitting. So, as much as I love writing, this blog has fallen off my radar. However, my cousin Melissa encouraged me to start again. And, I've been thinking about some reality checks that I want to share with the world (and get off my chest). So, here I am.

Now to get to the heavier stuff...

For a while now, I've been unhappy with my reflection in the mirror. I look at myself and all I see is the spare tire around my middle. I feel like I look like a bag of jello (yes, that's the literal term I use when I describe myself). And I hate it. I feel so unattractive. I feel like everyone in the world is staring at me and thinking how fat I've gotten. I hate the fact that I really should probably be buying a bigger size pants, but that number on the waistband bothers me. I am genuinely jealous of my friends who are fit and trim and look amazing (and the reality is, they probably have these conversations in their heads as well). I have a closet full of clothes, yet refuse to wear most of the things I love because I feel like they highlight my jiggly parts. I will try on several outfits before settling on one that I feel hides my midsection best. I suck my stomach in when I think about it because I feel like, otherwise, everyone is staring.

Now, rationally, I know that I don't look all that bad. Honestly, I still wear a size 2 or an XS. (Maybe an S if the clothing runs small.) I also know that I'm 40, and while the number of my age doesn't bother me, I know that it comes with bodily changes (metabolism slows, harder to lose weight, etc.). I had twins (yes, they're almost 6, but with that kind of stretching, your body will never be the same again). I am a full time mom, a full time wife, a full time daughter, a full time friend, and a full time teacher. I should probably be kinder to myself. I should realize that I probably don't look as bad as I do in my head. But, despite being rationally aware of all of this, I can't shut down my inner dialogue that says, "You're fat."

It's hard because, growing up, I was always that kid who could eat what I wanted, never exercise, and still be skinny with a flat stomach, and look great in everything. I would wear a size 24 jeans, size 0 or 00 everything, and always look fit and trim--even well into my 20s. But, 30 hit, and my metabolism changed. I noticed it in my first year of marriage. I had the beginnings of that spare tire around my middle and didn't like it. But, the fix was fairly quick and easy. When I was in Europe on vacation, my husband and I walked everywhere and didn't eat as much junk. I came back several pounds lighter, and much less round around the middle. So, I figured I'd keep this up by not eating so much candy and other junk during the day, and voila, I looked like myself again. But, I still ate what I wanted at meals, and I still ate junk food; it just wasn't the bulk of my diet.

At 33 (almost 34), I got pregnant with twins. Throughout my pregnancy, I told myself (and others...and believed it) that I had no idea what my body would look like after pregnancy, and I was ok with whatever. I was growing two miracles--it was worth what I looked like on the other side. I had my kids, and was the skinniest I've been since I was in my early 20s. Having two infants, barely eating or drinking, and trying to breast feed will do that to you. And, so I thought that this was what my body would look like--skinny again, and I was very OK with that (even though my belly wasn't quite as firm as it had once been...which I lamented over. But, I was wearing size 24 jeans again. so it was a small lament.) After I was done breast feeding, and I started sleeping and eating again...well, here's where it all went downhill.

The number on my scale reached heights I hadn't seen since I was halfway through my pregnancy. My clothes were all too tight. I felt like I always looked three months pregnant. Plus, I carry all of my extra weight around my middle (I look great from the chest up and from the knees down...), so I feel like my fat is out there on display for the whole world to see. I didn't walk into a room--my stomach did. (In fact, when we were working on the finishing touches for our house before it was built, a person I had literally just met looked at me and said, "Congrats! I didn't know you were pregnant!" I wasn't. Hadn't been for almost two years. That felt just awesome. Except not at all.

On top of that, my world was changing. We were selling our home, moving into temporary housing (first with my parents, and then into a small rental), and then literally moving across the country with no support system in place (you know...that whole Jersey Girl, Florida World thing). So, I learned that where I used to be someone who had no appetite when I was stressed, I was now a stress eater. Give me all the candy. All the pretzels. All the ice cream. All the cheese. And I hated what I saw in the mirror.

So, I did something about it. I started 21 Day Fix. It was hard--the meal planning, the exercising after the kids went to bed, the going to bed late every night (because of the exercising and meal planning)--but it worked. Did I look like the 26 year old me in my head? No. Did I lose all the weight I wanted to? No. But I felt good and I was fitting into clothes that I hadn't fit into in ages. I also felt like I looked good. I was happy.

However, it wasn't sustainable for me long term. By exercising every night, I had literally no time to do the other things I loved. The meal planning took so much more time and mental energy than I could afford on most days. So, while I intended to do a second round to lose those last pounds, I gave up. Also, here's the other thing about me...I can only do it if I'm super diligent and cut out all bad foods. I have no willpower when it comes to the candy or junk. I can't eat just one cookie and be satisfied. I can't just eat one chocolate kiss and feel sated. I can't just eat one bite of cake, or one bite of pizza, or mac & cheese, and feel like my craving has been met. Instead, I have that one bite, which leads to wanting more. Rationally, I know I should stop. But, I give into the craving. And, once I've let it back in, I want more. And so, the spiral begins.

So, here's my roller coaster. I get to this point (like I'm at right now) where I feel so disgusted with myself. My inner mean girl can't look in the mirror and see the things that make me beautiful. Instead, I see the things that I can't stand to look at. I look in the mirror and I see all of that cottage cheese around my middle. I see the fat belly and the love handles. The butt that looks just too big in the mirror. The marks from where my pants have been digging in all day, because I still squeeze into the ones that are just a smidgen too small. And I berate myself. Over, and over, and over again. (And, yes, I know I shouldn't. In fact, I read this article and it reinforces everything I rationally know, but I just can't seem to get my head around implementing it.) And so, cue the shame spiral. Eventually I hit a point where I am now--I feel ready to do something about it. Usually at this point, I start making better food choices, I find ways to fit exercise back into my life, and I cut out all of the junk food (because, if I let it in, even in moderation, it never ends well...actually--I do nothing in moderation. Just look at my closet, or my yarn stash, or my jewelry...hmm. Maybe I should talk to a therapist about this...). But, nothing I have done is sustainable long term. Even when I start seeing results, and I'm happy with myself, something happens and I'm too tired to exercise for a night or two, so it falls out of my routine, and I give it up completely. Or, I just want one piece of candy, and then the next night I want two, and then it's back in my life. Or I'm just too exhausted to do it all. And, so, I gain back all the weight...and probably more (at least that's how it feels and looks in my head). Cue the roller coaster.

At this point in my life, I need to find something sustainable. (Honestly, I keep fantasizing about liposuction, but I know that's not a real, viable solution.) But, I just don't know how to do it, because (and I know this sounds like an excuse) I just don't have the time.

Let me walk you through my day.

• I wake up at 5:45 in the morning--get myself ready to go to work and am out the door between 6:30 and 6:45 (depending on how slowly I move in the morning). 
• I drive 35-45 minutes to work, and usually arrive around 7:10-7:20. 
• I quickly eat breakfast in the dining hall (and by quickly, I literally mean within 10 minutes), and head up to my classroom, where I usually have a litany of students waiting for extra help from me by 7:45. 
• I teach 6 classes during the day, and I need my free periods to get grading done at work (so while I used to take a period at the end of the day and walk the track for a mile--so at least I was doing something active--I don't even get to do that anymore. It's December and I literally have not done it once this year. I miss it.). 
• The school day ends at 3:38 and I always have a bunch of students waiting for me for extra help. 
• I leave between 4 and 4:15, drive back a half an hour to wait in car line to pick up my kids. 
• I get them around 4:45, typically, and we don't get home until 5-5:15. 
• We eat dinner, then I get kids ready for bed, get them to bed, and then I do laundry, or put away dishes, or do whatever little things need to be done around the house.
• I finally get to sit down at 8:30. I get about 1 hour to do things I enjoy (read, knit, TV, whatever), and then I go back upstairs, take a shower, lay out everything I need for the next day, and go to bed by 10-10:30 (some nights 11 by the time everything is done). And, I get up and do it all over again the next day. 

Honestly, I can't carry the mental load of meal planning and prepping--it's too much on my already over full plate.  I do, however, want to try to eat better--so I want to sign up for a meal delivery program (like Catered Fit) that delivers food to you for breakfast and lunch (so I can still eat dinner with my family). Which, will take the meal issue out of it, but it's expensive. And, don't even get me started on exercise. I can wake up earlier, but I'm exhausted as is. I can try to go to the gym after I bring the kids home from school, but I'm spent after a long day at work (I've found that when I work out after work, I just don't get as much out of it because I don't have the energy to put as much into it) and it means less time with my kids, who I already barely get to spend time with. I can exercise at home after the kids go to bed, but that means no time for the things I enjoy. And, ultimately, I know that any of these choices are just not going to work for me in the long term. If I'm spread too thin, and too mentally and physically exhausted to keep up with it, it's not sustainable.

And so, the roller coaster continues. I honestly don't know how to get off. I know that there are only two choices...I need to take control of my fitness and my body, or I need to accept myself the way I am. (And, after writing all of this and rereading it, I probably need to go see a therapist to work through my body and moderation issues.) Any advice out there? I'll happily take it.

Trick or Treat? Definitely Treat.

I absolutely loved Halloween as a kid. I couldn't wait to get dressed up in a fun costume and go door to door begging for candy (and I always knew which houses had the best candy). The best part was coming home and checking out my haul. I remember my mom thoroughly inspecting all the candy (because, you know, what if some sicko put a needle in a piece of candy?), and then hanging the candy bag in the laundry room to slowly parcel out my haul. I trick or treated until well past the time it was probably acceptable (I'm talking until I was a senior in high school).

When I went off to college, I felt like Halloween would never be as fun as it was when I was in high school...but, I was wrong. I loved getting dressed up and going to Halloween parties with friends. This was even better than trick or treating! Then, I graduated college.

As I moved into adulthood, I assumed that Halloween would never be as good as it was in college. But, I was living in New York City, and I had no idea just how fun Halloween could be. I loved picking a good costume, going out to bars with friends, and I loved every minute of it. Halloween just kept getting better and better with each new stage of life.

When I moved out of the city, I expected Halloween would still be awesome. My first Halloween in the suburbs, I picked out a costume weeks in advance (ok, months...), and couldn't wait to get dressed up and go out. I went to a Halloween party at my ex-best friend's house (don't ask). It was fun, but it wasn't the kind of Halloween fun I was used to. It was my last Halloween party. I quickly learned that Halloween as an adult isn't really that fun. I no longer picked out costumes because I knew that I wouldn't be going out.

When I bought my own house, I learned to hate Halloween. I couldn't stand the doorbell constantly ringing. Every time I'd sit down, I'd have to get back up to answer the door. If I didn't get to the door fast enough, the local kids would incessantly ring my bell or pound on my door. The doorbell would ring well into the night, even long after I'd turned off all the lights (which was a tremendous nuisance after I had kids!). It was just annoying and not fun. I didn't dress up anymore (once in a while I'd wear a Halloween shirt), and I certainly didn't buy costumes anymore.

Then I had kids. I planned their costumes months in advance, and I loved dressing them up. But, I didn't take them trick or treating until they were almost 3. At almost 1 it felt like trick or treating was just me using them as a ploy to get free candy (because, let's be honest...we all know that parents who trick or treat with babies are really eating the candy themselves). At almost 2, I considered it, but I didn't think they'd appreciate it and I really didn't want them to have all that candy, anyway. Almost 3 just seemed like the right time. They enjoyed getting all the candy, but were very shy going to peoples' homes. It was fun until they decided they didn't want to walk anymore and they had to be carried home. It was even less fun when they threw tantrums for the next week because they couldn't go trick or treating again.

This year, my kids picked their own costumes for the first time. They seemed to understand Halloween and genuinely looked forward to it for weeks. We signed up to go to a party in our soon to be neighborhood (supposed to move in next week...here's hoping!). The kids were so excited to put on their costumes and go. The adults (me, my husband, and two of our closest friends) even donned costumes this year--ketchup, mustard, a hot dog, and a hamburger. We got dressed up, took pictures, and went to the party. We ate our faces off and then decided to go trick or treating around our soon to be neighborhood.

While we were walking from house to house, I was telling my friend how much I don't like Halloween as an adult. She was genuinely shocked. I told her that I couldn't stand giving out candy all night, constantly running back and forth to the door. She looked at me like I was crazy and said, "Just keep the door open, or set up a table and sit outside." I looked at her like she had 7 heads. After all, doesn't she get that Halloween is the end of October and it is typically freezing outside?

...Except, now I live in Florida. It's typically freezing outside IN NEW JERSEY. I looked around and saw that almost every house had a table set up out front with people sitting outside and socializing. My kids were no longer shy--they were running from house to house with some of the other neighborhood kids. Some neighbors had tables set up between their houses and were socializing while trick or treating was going on. Everyone was enjoying themselves--adults and kids alike.

And for the first time in a very long time, I remembered just how much I loved Halloween. I am now genuinely excited for next Halloween, when I will finally be in my house, and after taking my kids trick or treating, I can set up my own table in my driveway, enjoy the warm evening, socialize with my neighbors, and enjoy some of that Halloween magic once again. (Plus, it doesn't hurt that I don't have to bundle me and my kids in layers upon layers just to beg for some candy.) Time to start planning next year's costumes.

This round? New Jersey: 0; Florida: 1.

What. A. Week.

This past week was probably my hardest week since my kids were born (emergency c-section preeclampsia, preemies, NICU...oy.).

Let's backtrack to last Friday. Last Friday night was homecoming at my school--big, huge event. I had my nanny bring the kids (since hubby is traveling, which he does quite frequently) and we had a ton of fun. I loved watching my kids hang out with the other faculty members' kids. But, I noticed my son was congested. He had been napping in the car on the way there, so I figured it was nap congestion and chalked it up to a whole lot of nothing.

The next morning, we were flying back to NJ...this was a BIG, HUGE deal. Besides the fact that this was my first trip back to NJ since moving to FL, I was flying solo with the kids for the first time. That's right. Me. Two 3 1/2 year olds. Airplane. To say I was nervous was putting it mildly. On top of that, our flight was at 6 am (my choice...they tend to do really well on early morning flights), so that meant I had to get up at 3 am. So, by 9 pm, I was snuggled into my bed, all packed and ready to go.

And then I heard it.

My son was sitting up in his bed crying. When he wakes up from a dead sleep and sits up in his bed crying, it can only mean one thing....

PUKE.

I scrambled down to his room and tried to catch it. But, no. He puked all over his favorite sleep buddy...his doggy (which HAD to come with us to NJ...this mama scrambled to wash it in the sink and leave it to dry overnight...it was still damp the next morning, but came with us anyway). It was just mucus (or as I like to call it, the mucus pukus), so I was relieved that it didn't seem to be a stomach virus, but when he was breathing, he sounded like he had the croup...that seal bark. I put him in my bed to sleep so I could watch him (thankfully no puke hit his bed) I panicked, texted the doctor frantically to see if I could still take him on the plane the next morning, and prayed that he would be alright. Doctor said it's not croup and gave us the green light.

Needless to say, I didn't sleep much that night. Got up at 3, got myself ready, got my kids ready at 3:30, and out the door we went. Both were in great moods and they were absolute dreams on the flight. They even let me catnap for 5 minutes here or there.

That night, my son woke up again with the mucus pukus. He was sleeping in my parents' bed, but needless to say, he ended up in my bed again. Night two of no sleep. The next day, other than briefly falling asleep on my mother in law (which is unlike him, but I figured poor night's sleep and no nap...), he was his usual, silly, happy self. We had a huge family dinner, and it was a joy of a night.

That night he chose to sleep with my parents again. He woke up around 10:30...I had just fallen asleep. Fever and miserable. I got him to take medicine, but I kid you not when I say he was literally up the entire night. I only slept from 6 am until 7:30 am. My daughter slept with my parents and I could hear her up during the night as well. She also had a fever. Both kids were complaining that their ears hurt. Night three of no sleep. Oh...I also came down with something as well.

Well, we were supposed to get on a flight that day and I was so afraid of their ears on the plane if they had ear infections. I took them to a walk-in and their ears were clear. Once again, we got the green light to fly. This flight was in the evening...after a night of no sleep and a no nap day...with two sick kids and a sick me. I was expecting the worst. Thankfully, my son slept for most of the flight and my daughter just played with her iPad and was a dream. She even let me catnap again. Even with an extra hour of circling in the air before we landed (to which neither my daughter nor me were very pleased), they were still rockstars. People actually told me how well behaved my kids were and many people offered to help me get them and my bags off the plane. (My faith in humanity was restored for the time being.)

We got home and got right into bed. Well...both kids took turns waking up at night. My son was miserable and feverish and begging to sleep in my bed. My daughter was coughing up a storm. At 6:15 am, I finally brought him into my bed as I was getting ready for work...and I saw blood on his pillow. His lips looked chapped, so I chalked it up to that. Until I saw the blood and mucus that had dried in his ear. Enter full-on panic mode. Turns out he did rupture his eardrum on the plane (exactly what I had been afraid of happening!).

To go quickly through the rest of the week...she got better (still sick, but mostly congestion), he remained feverish and sad. He would literally wake up whimpering in the middle of the night (it's the saddest thing!). Turns out he has RSV. (It's a nasty respiratory virus that attacks young kids and the elderly...for those of us who are in neither of those categories, it just feels like a bad cold.) What does that mean? 10-15 days of This. 10-15 days of no sleep (seriously...the last time I had a good night's sleep was last Thursday...no, not the one two days ago, I'm talking over a week ago). 10-15 days of fever, and crying, and boogers, and whimpering...but, at least the mucus pukus has stopped.

Now...as if that wasn't hard enough, let's add on my first Florida hurricane. Hurricane Matthew was slated to hit my area...a full Category 4 hurricane. I literally had no idea how to prepare. My husband is still traveling for work and couldn't get home. My school closed for two days in anticipation of this major storm (I experienced my first hurricane day instead of snow day!). I had two sick kids, I'm still sick, and I'm staring down a Category 4 hurricane. I had friends and family in my ear telling me where to go, what to do, how to do it...my mind was spinning. Inside I was a total mess. Outside, I held it together pretty well.

In the end, me, the kids, and the nanny holed up in a hotel. Which meant it was me and the kids in a queen size bed. For two small humans, they take up a lot of room. I literally had no more room than my leg. Nope...not exaggerating. I was hanging off the bed. If I tried to move one over to give me more space, they would just scoot closer to me. So, that's another night of no sleep, on top of the stress, the illnesses, and the being out of our home. Even though I had my nanny there to help, my kids only wanted me. So, it meant that I constantly had one or two little humans vying for my attention, crying if they weren't getting it, and climbing on me. Good times.

Turns out, thankfully, Hurricane Matthew kind of skirted past our area. All we got was a little wind and some rain--it was basically a major rainstorm. The worst that happened was that one palm tree lost one leaf. Seriously. For that, I couldn't be more thankful.

But, my nanny left me to go back to her own life yesterday afternoon, and since then it's been a sick me, with two sick, whiny, clingy kids. Over the last day, while my son has gotten better (not completely, but we are on the mend), my daughter and I have gotten worse.

What does that mean? Both kids whine at me, yell at me, cry for me, and cling to me. Top that with the fact that they are threenagers who don't listen, and you have one mama who has reached her limits. I feel terrible when I lose my patience on my sick kids and yell at them. But, this mama is so done. My thermometer may not tell me I have a fever, but I feel it...the aches, the chills, the headache...all of it. My body may be functioning, but I seriously miss sleep...and I know I won't be seeing a good night's sleep for a long while yet. And, so, tonight, this mama went out into the garage and cried. I went into the garage so my kids wouldn't see me. I got away because one was sleeping on the couch and the other was bribed with YouTube on the iPad. I have hit rock bottom and it sucks.

Here's the thing...when I was in NJ and a situation like this would arise, I had an extensive support system. The majority of my family was in the same town, I had friends who would drop their stuff if I needed it to come help, and I knew that someone was always nearby. Here? That's a different story. In FL, I have three friends who I consider close--but, it's not their responsibility to come help me. The one married couple is busy with their own life, and, quite frankly, I rely on them a lot, and I feel like they are not responsible for us, and I need to give them some space. My other dear friend lives a half-hour to 40 minutes away and has kids of her own. I have no family here that I can rely on and the rest of my "friends" here are people who I talk to once in a while and we hang out if we can make time for it. I feel like a single mom in a strange place.

So, in this round...it's
NJ-1; FL-0.

Does it mean I want to go back to NJ? Nope. I still love it here. But, it does mean that this week has sucked and that I miss my support system. That's all.

Back to School: Florida Style

Every year, there has been one day I dread more than the others. That day is the first day of school. This is not your typical teacher lament, mourning the lazy days of summer. It's more than that. See, in New Jersey, the first day of school means the onset of fall. 

While some people revel in the thought of the cooler season (not to mention pumpkin spice everything), I am not one of those people. I have always said that I'm solar powered. I love sitting in the sunshine and being warm. I would take being hot over being cold any day of the week. (In fact, I often get into my hot car and leave the air off for a few minutes and enjoy the warmth...only if I'm alone, though. I know better than to subject others to my oddities.) It means shorter days, cold weather, and, before long, being stuck in the house for months on end because it is just too cold to go outside. 

In terms of going back to school, it has always meant being stuck in a school building for 8 or more hours a day without so much as a chance to go into the outside world. It meant missing the few nice days left because I was stuck in my classroom, while wistfully looking out the window. It means that the few hot days left were spent in my sweltering classroom, while being told that, no, I cannot take my children outside to learn in the fresh air. Basically, it was a life I didn't enjoy, a life of confinement, and a life I dreaded each year.

This year, though, it feels different. Even though I've been back at school for over a month, I still feel like I'm waiting for the first day of school. Maybe it's the fact that I'm at a new school and incredibly excited about this new opportunity (although every other time I've switched schools, it has caused me anxiety, not excitement). Maybe it's the fact that I'm still trying to get settled into a very new (and still impermanent) life. But, I think it's actually neither of those things. I think it's the weather. 

This year, I thought I would be heartbroken that I had barely 5 weeks to call a summer (and most of that time was spent either on the road driving to Florida or nurturing sick kids who were adjusting to a new school, new house, and new life). But, as I set out that first day in early August, it just felt different. I think it's because this year, I knew that the start of the school year didn't mean the end of summer. It didn't mean the closing of a pool, the abandonment of beaches, or the piling on of layers. It still meant long days with warm (nay, hot) weather. It meant swimming on the weekends, and being able to go out in the evening or leave for work in the morning without having to put on a jacket or turn on the heat in my car. I also know that this fabulous warm weather isn't going anywhere anytime soon (or anytime at all, for that matter...this is Florida, you know.) and that I can still enjoy it. I also have the added bonus of working on an amazing campus where I'm forced outside at least twice a day to walk to and from the dining hall, and where I can (and am encouraged to) take my classes outside or sit and grade in the courtyard in my off periods. 

So, even though I'm back at work (my 5:15 a.m. alarm reminds me of that daily), I still feel like it's summer vacation. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop and to really start the school year.

Until then, I'll just keep on feeling like I'm on summer vacation.

Making Friends

I am not a shy girl. I've been known to make friends anywhere; I've even made friends at the doctor's office. Seriously. But, it's one thing to chat up the person sitting next to you in the waiting room and an entirely different thing to take that conversation from "Oh yeah? You grew up where? Do you know so and so? Oh, they called your name? Take care!" to "Hey, would you like to exchange numbers and hang out sometime?" Some people would respond positively to that. A great many others would just think you were a weirdo.

So, one of my biggest fears in moving from New Jersey to Florida (and wayyyyyy far out of my comfort zone...like thousands of miles away from my comfort zone) was leaving my support system and growing a new one.

When you're young, it's pretty easy to make friends. You're next door neighbors, you're in the same classes, you like the same activities, you go to the same school, you live in the same dorm...these scenarios are built in friend makers. You're all going through the same thing at the same time, and, therefore, you are all open and ready to making new friendships and inviting new people into your life. No one thinks you're weird if you're 8 years old and inviting your classmate over to play. No one thinks you're weird if you're in high school and asking the girl in your algebra class to hang out after school one day. No one thinks you're weird if you ask the girl next door in your college dorm to go to the dining hall together or to the party on campus together. Those things are normal.

But, take yourself out of those scenarios. You are an adult--with kids, a career, a husband, and a life. Where do you meet people? Sure, you'll meet people at work, but rarely do work friendships turn into outside-of-work friendships. You'll definitely meet the moms of your kids' friends, but those moms may not be looking for new friends, and just because your kids like each other, doesn't mean you will be insta-friends. It just means you may awkwardly sit at a park together somewhere, making painful small talk while your kids play.

And, so, back to my concern...who would I hang out with when I need nights away from my kids? Who could I count on to come over and hang out with me on nights when my husband is away and I just need some girl talk? Who would be my local go-to when I've had a bad day, a good day, or just a day that I want to talk about? Who could I call and say "Hey, want to meet the kids and me for breakfast?" And, who could I count on when I'm in a pinch and need someone to watch the kids last minute?

I was afraid I'd be very lonely in paradise.

I have a few friends who knew people down here who made introductions, and I have a few friends I've known who have moved to this area. But, everyone has their own lives, and, well, I can't blame them if I'm not a priority.

But, despite all of that, despite all of my fear and anxiety, I got lucky.

INCREDIBLY, BEAUTIFULLY LUCKY.

I had the fortune to meet two people who have become very important in my life. In both of these situations, it was one of those where you instantly knew that this person was going to become one of your nearest and dearest. And, in both situations, I became incredibly close with my new friends in a quick amount of time. It feels like I've known these amazing ladies forever, and I often forget that they didn't help me live my history, they don't know my story, and haven't met most of my important people.

I met my first dear friend when I was picking out cabinets, tile, and other goodies for my new home. She was doing the same. We happened to be building the same model home in the same neighborhood. We bonded over cabinets, and that night, she and her husband invited me and my husband to dinner. We graciously accepted the invitation, and what was a "first date" turned into a three hour dinner, full of laughter and joy. Every subsequent trip to Florida before the big move included time with them, and when we were in separate states, texts and phone calls became a common occurrence. They have become some of our dearest friends in the world; it's strange if we go a week without seeing them and more than a day without talking.

I met my second dear friend because she was assigned to be my mentor at work. When I was hired at my new position, I just kept hearing about this one teacher that everyone said I was going to get along great with. On the flip side, she kept hearing about this new hire who she was totally going to hit it off with. Well, I was nervous. What if I didn't like her--or worse, what if she didn't like me? What if it was one of those instances where everyone thought we'd be great friends, but in reality, we couldn't stand each other? We met a few weeks before school started to do a little work on our shared course. We ended up doing very little work and quite a lot of chatting. By the end of that meeting, we were already old friends, and by the first day of school, we were inseparable. We are even already at the point where we finish each other's...sandwiches. (Just kidding...this isn't Frozen! We just finish each other's sentences.) We look forward to seeing each other each day, talk after work, hang out on the weekends, and even our kids are friends.

So, while no one can replace my New Jersey support system, I am so glad that my fears were unfounded. I have met some amazing people, and my world is so much richer for having them in it. This is just one more reason I'm glad my family took the leap and moved to Florida.

Welcome to My New Life...

Hi. Let me introduce myself. I'm Stacy. Mom of twins, high school teacher, reader, knitter, friend, daughter, wife, blogger (Want to see my other blog that I write with my BFF? Of course you do! Just click here...). The list goes on and on. But, there's one other thing I want to address...I'm a New Jersey native, Florida transplant. What a strange turn of events that was...

But, it happened.

I moved from New Jersey (living in the town where I was born & raised) to Florida just a few short weeks ago. I never planned to leave New Jersey, and, in fact, I had lived in the Northeast my entire life. I had a good life there; my family was nearby, I had lots of good friends, and a good job. But, if there's one thing I've learned throughout my years on this earth, it's that you never know where life is going to take you, and you most certainly are never going to end up where you thought you would.

Which takes me to now...here I am--a resident Floridian.

I've always loved Florida. My grandparents lived here (ironically in the town I am living in) and I absolutely loved visiting them. I was envious of my cousin who grew up here--he could be outside year round, he got his license a full year before me, even though he's younger, and it just seemed like a really cool life. When I would visit my grandparents in my twenties, I always thought that I could live here someday. But, it was more of an abstract thing, and I never thought that I'd actually do it.

Until I did.

As I said earlier, you never know where life is going to take you. Flashback to 2015. My husband and I were living in a beautiful home. It was supposed to be our forever home. It was where we were raising our kids, and where we had done many improvements to make our home just that, ours--and there were many more projects in the works. And then...things changed. Our neighborhood changed. Due to that, we sold the house. When we were putting the house on the market, we had to decide where we were going to go. We didn't want to stay in the town we were in, so my husband suggested Florida. I looked at him like he had seven heads, and then I cried. I literally cried. (For the record, I am not a cryer.) I'm one of those people who reacts first, then thinks things out. When I calmed down and started thinking, I realized that it might actually be a good idea. I finally said to my husband, "We only live once. Let's do it."

So we did.

Fast forward a year and here we are. Living in Florida. Living a life I never expected to have. New job, new friends, and my family is far away.

But...it's an amazing life. I am the happiest I've been in a long time. (Maybe it's all the sunshine...I do say that I'm solar powered, after all!) So, here's to big changes, shaking things up, and seeing where life will take you.

So, to (finally) get to my point...I am starting this blog as a way to share my thoughts and my world. Because if one thing is true about Jersey girls, it's that we don't hold our tongues.

Until my next post...